


Don't Let Me Die

by oneishaa97



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Attraction, Bad Parent Maryse Lightwood, Confident Alec Lightwood, Confident Magnus Bane, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Gangs, Good Parent Maryse Lightwood, How Do I Tag, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm trying not to give away too much, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Mundane Magnus Bane/Mundane Alec Lightwood, Mundane Raphael Santiago, Protective Alec Lightwood, Protective Siblings, Robbery, Slow Burn, Smut, Theft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 23:24:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12592880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneishaa97/pseuds/oneishaa97
Summary: Magnus Bane has been having one particular nightmare every night for the past 6 weeks of an unknown man being murdered right before his very eyes. Each dream reveals more and more about Magnus' mystery man. Will Magnus learn everything he needs to know about this man before he's murdered or will he be able to save the life of the young man before it's ripped away forever.Alec and his sister, Isabelle, have both been living off of pick pocketing for five years after tragedy struck; wiping away the only family they have ever known. When offered the deal of a lifetime to rob the most influential man of their time, the siblings readily agree to go through with the plan for the chance at a better life. Does Alec take up the offer as an insider and gain way more than he bargained for or does everything take a turn for the worst?





	Don't Let Me Die

The nightmare was always the same. Paralyzed, naked, cold. The masked man would come closer with the knife, making sweeping movements to a music only he could hear. No matter what path he took, the victim always came face to face with the masked murderer. The victim’s whose face always seemed blurred no matter how hard Magnus looked, no matter how close he got. The figure was always reaching out to him – or atleast trying to. His legs moved but he didn't, not really but he didn’t seem to know that. All Magnus saw was that he was letting him die. All he saw was himself letting the mystery man get murdered for something he probably didn’t even do.

Magnus shook his head mutely. _It wasn’t real_.

_ How could it be? _

“This is a dream!” He screamed; his voice hoarse even to his own ears. He tugged on the strands of his onyx hair.

“You’re not real,” He said again; voice soft, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t let you die.”

“Magnus!” 

_ No.  Not again, not this. Anything but this. _

“Magnus!”

Magnus can feel the sweat drench his skin, the throbbing of his own eyes, the ringing screams vibrating in his ears, and the thumping of his heart against his chest. His fingers are curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm. He can't hear his own rapid breathing, but instead feels the oxygen flooding in and out of his lungs. Hesitantly, his eyes look at the dead corpse before him, the person  _ he _ killed.

Fear tortures his guts, churning his stomach in tense cramps. Fear engulfs his conscience, knocking all other thoughts aside. Fear overwhelms his body, making it drastically exhausted. 

His heart pounds harshly, mind fuzzy. It was as if a hypodermic of adrenaline had been emptied into his carotid.

He was dead, hazel eyes fixed and vacant. Magnus saw himself crouch next to him, one hand over his still chest. He was gone.

He picked up his hand, so cold and pale, touching it to his newly wet cheek, closing his eyes for just a moment.

_ Why is it called a nightmare, if it doesn't leave your presence even when you are awake? _

“Magnus!”

Yellow-green eyes snapped open.

He was safe. He was in his loft, with the Chairman pressed against his chest. Everything was fine. 

_ But it wasn’t _ .

How could everything be fine when he had been having the same dream— no nightmare— for the past six weeks; each dream showing more of the mystery man than the last had.

_Hazel_.

His eyes were hazel.

His eyes were like the colour of milk chocolate edged with a deep forest-green.

Black hair and hazel eyes. It isn’t much but it was enough for now.

It had to be.

_ I have to save him _ , Magnus thinks to himself.

_ I won’t let him die _ .

Suddenly the doorbell shrills, snapping Magnus out of his stupor.

Magnus sighed, carefully removing the slumbering cat from his chest, pushing the duvet from his legs.

The doorbell used to sound cheerful, an announcement of a friend or unexpected visitor. Now it is no more than a gunshot is to a war veteran. Magnus had never intended to go to sleep that night.

For the past week he’d been trying to avoid sleep for as long as he possibly could.

Most of the time, he’d succeeded in avoiding to succumb to his tiredness. Others he just couldn’t keep his eyes open for more than a couple of hours.

“Magnus!”

Catarina’s voice rang through the empty apartment. She pounded on the door, demanding to be let in and Magnus.. Magnus knew better than to ignore her demands.

Magnus opened the door to reveal a very annoyed Catarina Loss.

“You took your time,” she scowled, pushing past him.

“And clean this dump, won’t you?”

Magnus scoffed but nodded nonetheless.

He really did need to do some cleaning.

Magnus slumps in his favourite armchair, throwing his feet on the mahogany coffee table in front of him.

“Coffee?” Cat calls from the kitchen.

Magnus nods, bleary-eyed.

He drifts into a sleep-like state and then back out. The world was a blur, and random images seemed to float aimlessly around in the pool of his thoughts, as though they were being blown about viciously by a hurricane.

_ Magnus! Magnus, please! Help me. I don’t wanna die here. I-I have siblings that depend on me. I can’t- _

A tap on his  shoulder momentarily brings him back.

He looks up meeting Cat’s worried expression.

Accepting the coffee, he inhales the sweet beverage before gulping down the scalding hot liquid, completely ignoring the way it burns his throat.

I deserve this for not being able to help him.

“Still dreaming about the mystery man?” Catarina enquired, shrugging off her cable-knit grey cardigan.

“I’ve been calling you for quite sometime.”

Magnus felt a deep wave of regret wash over as he noticed his friend’s scrubs.

She must have came directly from work.

“Yes and no but I’m alright, Cat,” Magnus reassured his oldest, dearest friend, clutching her hand in his.

Cat gave him a look that said she didn’t quite believe but eventually let the topic fade, which Magnus was entirely too grateful for.

He felt his heart double in size for the woman seated besides him.

Without her, he didn’t even want to think of what would’ve become of him.

The name Magnus Bane might’ve just been a memory to his dearest friends.

They say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite.

Magnus had met Catarina Loss on the eve of his 21st birthday, when he was arrested for nudity.

After his excuses of being drunk and would never bare himself for all to see fell on deaf ears, Magnus was thrown into jail for the remaining of the weekend until the guardian angel by the name of Catarina Loss had visited his arresting officer, Ragnor Fell.

Catarina took just one look at him and demanded he be let out of prison.

Ragnor just scoffed and grumbled something that sounded oddly like you’re as insane as he is but eventually, albeit reluctantly, agreed to let Magnus free.

Magnus had later learned that Catarina and Ragnor had been friends nearly their entire life and somewhere along the line, he was squeezed into the friendship.

Almost five years ago.

 

* * *

 

“It's cold out here. I miss our old home,” Isabelle whimpered, nestling her head against her brother's shoulders. 

Sighing, Alec wraps his arms tighter around his little sister's slender frame. 

They were a team.

Alec and Izzy. 

Alec was the kind of distractions and diversions. Isabelle, the light fingered little sister. 

Their act was a thing of beauty; choreographed, timed, perfected. No one could beat them. 

“I do too, Iz” Alec mutters before shrugging himself out of his leather jacket and passing over to his baby sister who still shivered in his arms. 

Alec was the kind of guy that didn't care much about anything. He cared little about where he slept, what he ate, his ex boyfriends but of one thing was extremely certain he cared most about was the love he had for his baby sister. Alec would try to act all tough but he could never fool his sister. Not her. Never her.

She was all he had left. 

She knew him better than he even knew himself.

He wished Isabelle hadn’t been dragged into the life they had now, he wished his baby sister had settled down somewhere and eventually have a few kids of her own.

Honestly, the mere thought of children scared Isabelle more than them getting caught and imprisoned one day for the numerous crimes committed by them over the years, though she would never tell him that.

Jonathan, the leader of their little ring, was resting against the wooden pillar with a face of utter nonchalance, as if he were merely waiting for a bus on a spring day, apple in hand.

He wasn’t slumped at all, his body is clearly too muscular for that, yet it is just as relaxed as his face.

He’s almost smiling — smiling as if something good was about to happen. The world falls through Alec’s feet at that.

Good for him meant bad for Izzy. _Very bad_.

Being the only woman in the group, it was expected of Isabelle to bring in what Jonathan called the _big men_.

“Just use your pretty little charms, bat your eyes, flash your vagina or whatever,” he’d say waving his hand around in annoyance.

Alec wouldn’t have any of it.

“Just get a random hooker or someone to do your dirty work. You’re _not_ using my sister as your whore.”

They’d go back and forth for awhile until Alec finally offered up himself. Being gay and all he didn’t mind. It was great to be able to get laid every once in awhile, even if it were for despicable reasons, even though he felt filthy for days. 

Alec has the swagger of someone you wouldn’t want to lock eyes with, let alone cross. His arms were more ink than skin and his dark hair so tousled as if he’d just rolled right out of the bed.

Most of the time that was exactly the case.

“Lovely weather, eh Alexander?” Jonathan asked, before taking a harsh chomp out of his apple. 

Isabelle flinched before schooling her expression almost immediately.

“Alec,” Alec snapped. Anyone who knew him would know he absolutely loathed being called Alexander. His parents always called him by his full name before a heavy scolding or just to flat out taunt him. Alexander brought back his worst memories and he'd rather bury the name alongside the life he had before theft became his normality. 

Jonathan appeared unfazed; the side of his lips tugged up slightly after getting a rise out of Alec. 

“Cut the shit, Jonathan! Get to the point. We all know you don't give a fuck about the weather. Hell, you barely give a fuck about yourself.”

Still smirking, Jonathan pushes himself from the wall he currently occupied, bringing a brown envelope with him, whic app

“I don't even want to know where you kept that,” Isabelle grimaced, shrugging her brother's jacket from her shoulders before walking over to Jonathan, snatching the envelope from him. 

“I can think of one or two places,” Alec muttered under his breath but just loudly for Jonathan to be able to hear him.

“God knows quite a lot can fit up there.”

Jonathan paled, choking on a piece of apple lodge at the back of his throat. 

Isabelle just smiled sweetly, red lips stretching across her face. 

“Oh and there I was thinking you didn't have a gag reflex,” Alec commented almost bored with the entire situation. 

“Alexan—”

“ _Alec_ ,” Alec corrects impatiently before walking over to where his sister sat, flipping through the papers. “Who's the guy?” He asked, jerking his head towards the documents.

Isabelle pats the space besides her, offering her brother a seat, which he accepts readily. 

The apartment they rented out was pretty run down; the paint was badly chipped but it was home. It had been for quite sometime. 

The siblings had left their childhood home when Alec was fifteen and Isabelle, just thirteen.

Their father, Robert Lightwood, was a soldier almost his entire life. He had originally joined to prove to his father that he was nothing like he was—he wasn't a drunk and he'd never lay a hand on the woman he would one day marry.

They were happy. Alec, the quiet, shy boy whose head was always stuck in a book and Isabelle, the rebellious daddy's girl. Whenever their father left for quite a number of months, Isabelle would sit at the window every night awaiting his return. No one, not even her brother whom she loved with her entire heart, wasn't able to get her to move. Their mother instantly became worried at her daughter's behaviour which resulted in her taking Isabelle to a bunch of childhood shrinks. That was as a fun time in the Lightwood household. 

They all assured her that Isabelle was alright and that was simply her way of dealing with her father's departure. 

Every month Robert would write them all separate letters. One month when the letters didn't come as they usually did, Alec immediately knew something was wrong. 

Maryse, their mother, either refused to let herself believe that her husband had been killed leaving her with two children under the age of eighteen and pregnant with another or entirely optimistic but Alec knew and he had a feeling his sister did too. 

Two months had passed until they finally received the fatal news. 

Their father, after seeing the brains of his best friend and the children's Godfather, Michael Wayland's brains blown out right in front of him, dropped his rifle and ran from the battlefield in blind panic and terror and ran straight into a hidden bomb.

He died instantly. 

Their mother hadn't taken the news well, immediately going into labor two months early, giving birth to her third and final child, Max Lightwood. 

After that their mother was never the same. She'd drink herself into oblivion every day leaving Alec and Isabelle to care for their infant brother. 

Alec had basically taken the role of a parent. He'd made sure Isabelle and Max ate, while their mother was off partying with the local strippers young enough to be her daughters. 

Alec would help get Isabelle ready for school and helped her with her homework whenever she asked, whilst also going to school himself. Their neighbour, Caitlin had been so kind as to watch little Max for a small fee, while Alec and Isabelle attended school.

Money wasn't an issue since the government was now taking care of them after their father's demise. 

Isabelle and Alec had already been close younger but Alec's bravery and persistence made Isabelle love and respect her brother more than she ever thought possible. 

Jonathan walks over to where Alec and Isabelle sat huddled together, silently studying their newest client, slamming the envelope shut, his face a mask of fury. 

“We're calling it a night.”

Alec rolled his eyes at Jonathan's dramatics but got up anyway, tugging his sister behind. 

“Jesus, did he really think I didn't know you guys have wild, angry sex? He's not exactly quiet,” Isabelle snickers, ruffling her brother's hair affectionately. 

“Didn't take him for a bottom either. I guess you really don't know people.”

“Isabelle,” Alec warns but the smile tugging at his lips says he's the farthest thing from upset. 

“Night, big brother,” she whispers, pulling her brother into a tight hug. 

“Night Iz.”

 

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**Author's Note:**

> There's a Magnus Bane quote hidden somewhere in this chapter. If you can identify I'll give you an omamori charm & love you forever!  
> Thank you so much for reading and please comment & tell you how you feel about this first chapter.


End file.
